


of ice and flame

by rewrite_a_million_dreams



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Angst, Blood, Burns, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Fights, Fire Powers, Fluff, Hurt Phillip Carlyle, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Ice Powers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Passing Out, Phillip Carlyle Needs a Hug, Physical Abuse, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Protective P. T. Barnum, Scars, based on social classes kinda ?, basically everyone has an element that they control, both of them are super sensitive to each others powers, phillip has ice powers, phineas has fire powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 02:39:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17174291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rewrite_a_million_dreams/pseuds/rewrite_a_million_dreams
Summary: The first sob came out of nowhere. The first icy blast from his hands followed immediately after.





	of ice and flame

**Author's Note:**

> aaaa !!! ok so i couldn't have written this w/out @nerdy-snowflake, @circus-playwright and so many others on tumblr/the discord server helping out with this au !!! thank you guys so much aaa !!!! 
> 
> this definitely wont be the last time i write about this au. enjoy !!!

As a young child, Phillip Carlyle was just another kid. He learned his manners quickly. He enjoyed playing outside, and pointing out interesting bugs and plants and animals- mostly squirrels- to his mother. He liked telling wild, outlandish stories about different worlds, and had quite a hyperactive imagination. There was nothing that set him apart from any other children, nothing that told them he was anything but a normal, human child.

 

That is, until the day of that fateful Christmas party when he was seven years old. 

 

The entire event, filled with aristocrats and strangers that Phillip didn't know, was far too hot, far too crowded, far too noisy and far too overwhelming. His parents had thrown these parties often, but somehow this one was different. Maybe it was because, unlike the others, there were way more than twenty people here people here. Or, maybe it was because his parents decided it was time he learn how to function when alone in a social setting, thus leaving poor Phillip to fend for himself in the crowded room. 

 

As he made his way through the mass of extremely tall people, pushing past women's huge dresses and ducking under men's legs, he frantically searched around, seeing his father above the crowd. With a grateful grin on his face, Phillip ran up to his father and tugged on his hand, drawing his attention away from the conversation at hand. “Father!”

 

Theodore, his father, visibly stiffened, and he smiled at the man he was talking to. “I must say, John, I apologize, but perhaps we can finish this conversation later.” He did not bother waiting for a reply, instead he gripped Phillip's hand tightly and dragged him away, finding a secluded corner. 

 

“Father, I don't like it here-- it- it's too many people, and I- and I just want to find Mother but I- I can't- I can't find her!” Phillip said in a hushed voice, but Theodore wasn't having any of it. One moment, Phillip was standing with his back against the wall, fearful tears brought on by the party clouding his vision. The next, he was sprawled on the floor, a decent sized red welp on his left cheek. 

 

This was not the first time Theodore had slapped him. It would not be the last.

 

“Phillip, that is enough. You are too old to be acting in this way. Do not come to your mother and I again, or you will face consequences. Am I understood?”

 

“Yes, father.”

 

“Good,” Theodore mumbled, walking down the small corridor and back into the large room. Phillip waited a few minutes before following, sniffling and wiping his eyes.

 

It was too loud. Way, way, way too loud. Phillip felt fear rising through his chest as he quickly tried getting through the crowd, eyes wide and frantic. People were bumping into him. Stepping on him. They were pushing him, by no means on purpose, but every touch, every graze of pressure was only making it worse. Phillip only wanted to get across the room to the staircase, so he could sneak back to his room, take off the stuffy outfit he had been forced into and blame it on feeling under the weather. His mother would understand. 

 

He was halfway there when all of a sudden, a larger woman stepped backward, bumping into his shoulder with her back. It sent him stumbling to the floor with a surprised yelp, which caused her to turn, gasping. “Oh, dear, I am so very sorry!” She said quickly, and reached down to take Phillip's hand to help him up. She was just inches away when she stopped and gasped, instantly backing up, and at the commotion, a few others backed up as well.

 

Phillip was confused, until he looked down at his hand. 

 

It was a blue tint. Frost was forming on his fingertips.

 

Phillip took in a slow, deep breath, his eyes growing wider by the second. He tried to wipe his hand off, but that only caused more of the frosty patterns to form, both on his hands and his clothes, and he even felt something cold grazing his cheeks. His hands were shaking.

 

Everything was coming down around him. His head was pounding, the air around him disappearing as it began to get harder to breath. With one glance around, he was painful aware that everyone had backed up. There was a large circle of blank space and he was in the very middle. Right in the line of sight of his parents. They were staring at him. Whispering. Pointing. 

 

“Is that the Carlyle boy?”

 

“What on earth is he doing?”

 

The hushed voices were magnified in his mind. All he could hear were the strangers talking about him.

 

The first sob came out of nowhere. 

 

The first icy blast from his hands followed immediately after. 

 

The sharp mass hit the ceiling, shattering into thousands of shards of ice and falling around him as he stood. He turned around and gulped harshly, running in the direction of the large staircase off to the side, but someone grabbed his wrist. Definitely a man, perhaps his father, but he couldn't look. He heard a scream, maybe it was his own, and not even three seconds later, the ballroom floor was covered in a thin layer of frost. He watched in horror as it creeped up the walls, and while everyone was distracted, Phillip pushed his way through the crowd, ran upstairs, and hid himself in his bedroom with a loud sob.

 

He could hear everyone downstairs rush to leave. Heard the carriages and horses leave the property. It was silent for a while, before he heard footsteps coming up the stairwell, ever closer to his room. 

 

Theodore pushed the door open, with full intent to punish Phillip, but as he stepped into the room, he paused.

 

Phillip was in the corner. The entirety of the room was covered with ice, and frost, and even snow. Phillip was hugging his knees. He was almost blue, but his eyes were bright white.

 

The worst beating he had ever received was that night. He could still feel the punches, still feel the kicks, still feel that iron rod . He still had the scars on his back and the burn marks on his chest to prove it.

 

From that point on, Phillip was pushed even harder to become the perfect mold of the perfect child, even when that meant becoming close friends with loneliness and isolation. He wasn't allowed to go outside, wasn't allowed to speak with anyone other than his mother, father, and the maid that occasionally came upstairs to check on him. He was barely allowed to even leave his room, only permitted to come downstairs for supper where he sat at the opposite end of a long table and ate in silence. 

 

Five years passed. On the day of his twelfth birthday, Phillip had an outburst. His father had grabbed him too harshly. A wave of memories crashed over Phillip. He remembered screaming, but when he came back to himself and saw that there were jagged ice shards sticking up around himself, shielding him from his father, he knew he was in for something bad.

 

Five more scars. Five more burn marks. No more birthdays. 

 

By the time that Phillip was nineteen, he had more or less learned how to control it on his own, what Theodore had called a devilish curse. He started writing as a way to channel the energy put in a more positive way. He was twenty-one when he wrote his first play. Twenty-Five when he wrote his second.

 

Thirty when he met a man with rough looks, a burning gaze, a fire that made Phillip melt. 

 

He had heard of Phineas Taylor Barnum before, but had never had a face to go with the wild stories that were drunkenly spoken in a bar. He had never seen anyone so… warm. In a literal sense of the word, Phineas radiated heat. Even standing feet away from him in that room after the ballet performance, Phillip would get too hot, and have to move back to stay away from him. 

 

He finally stepped outside when enough was enough. He stood against the cool bricks of the building, letting his head hang as he took in a few deep breaths. He felt the presence before he heard the footsteps, and felt the heat before anything else. Phineas was there in front of him, standing a few feet away. 

 

Phillip couldn't help but take in his appearance. His skin was rough, tanned, and calloused- no doubt from years of hard labor, but maybe he was just naturally that way. Phineas was fire, after all. He was raw power that could not be contained. 

 

They drank together that night. Phineas told him to become his business partner. Phillip said no. Phineas tried to convince him to join the circus. Phillip said no. 

 

Neither objection worked.

 

About a month after their first interaction, he was standing alone in the center ring, turning slowly to stare at all of the empty seats. He imagined what it must feel like to be at the center of attention for all of those people. He was so lost in thought, he almost didn't feel Phineas approach. 

 

“Mr. Carlyle, may I ask what you're still doing here?”

 

Phillip turned quickly, backing up when he noticed how close Phineas had gotten. He always felt bad for shying away, but as much as he liked Phin, liked what a good friend he had turned into, he was always worried about how. He gulped and rubbed the back of his neck, before placing his hands at his sides. “I believe I have told you before to call me Phillip, yes? And I will be leaving shortly, I was just…” He trailed off and shook his head, letting out a soft sigh. “I was just leaving. No worries,” Phillip murmured, and turned on his heels to walk away, just as Phineas reached after him.

 

When Phineas touched his wrist, although gently, both of them instantly jumped back. Phillip stared at his hand, at a red, flushed patch of skin that felt all too hot, and a quick glance at Phineas showed that he was dealing with something strange too- an intricate pattern of frost on his palm.

 

The two stared at each other for a long moment, Phillip taking in a deep breath to calm his already fast-paced heartbeat. He gulped, thoughts racing through his mind. It hurt. Reminded him of the punishments his father would give him all those years ago- the burns from various cigars, the agonizing, slow heat of being locked in a room with a blazing fireplace. It reminded him of the feeling of a long, hot iron rod- the one his father would use every time he acted up, the one that would lie against the skin of his back, causing a blazing pain so terrible that the next day, his throat would turn raw from the previous night screaming, sobbing, and begging to stop, please stop. The touch was terrifying, yet… oddly, he found himself wanting something more. The wish of more contact was washed away by a wave of disgust- not for Phineas, but for his own feelings on the fact that he craved the warm, soft, comforting embrace that he was sure Phineas could give him, and he hated the mere fact that he was such a hypocrite with himself. 

 

Phillip had a lot of scars, but this small flush on his hand was different. Although it stung just a bit, the motion made his own heat rise to his cheeks, a soft blush apparent against his porcelain skin. He had never been used to this. All of the heat he had ever experienced was in the form of pain. Discomfort. Untrustworthiness.

 

Never once did it feel as delicate and intimate as this. 

 

Phineas seemed to have the same look of shock written on his face. He took a deep breath, a sound catching in his throat as though he were about to speak, and then he left, leaving Phillip standing motionless in the middle of the ring. 

 

That night, when Phillip was trying to force himself to succumb into sleep's sweet embrace, his mind kept pulling him away. He thought of Phineas. The smile that could light a room. The hands that made Phillip melt. The heat that made phillip feel alive and safe at the same time. 

 

He thought of how hard it would be, if Phineas actually felt anything back for him. They were both men. Both now outcasts. Both in completely different social statuses. Both were as different as could be, yet both were made to fit into each other's lives.

 

Phillip just had to find a way to wedge himself into Phineas's arms without the fear of getting hurt. 

 

Phineas just had to find a way to pull Phillip in without guilt overpowering him.

 

For the rest of the next two weeks, their contact was unfortunately limited. When Phillip was rehearsing, Phineas was filling out paperwork. When Phillip had downtime, Phineas had some way of always appearing busy. 

 

The day that Phillip realized enough was enough was the day he realized that, in order to get phineas to even speak to him for more than a fraction of a minute, he would need to be in much closer quarters. 

 

The realization made his stomach twist and his heart drop. He was unsure whether or not that was a good thing. 

 

As soon as Phillip watched Phineas head into his small office, he came following quickly, opening the room and slamming the door behind him. He locked it and leaned against it for good measure, staring at Phineas as he took a deep breath.

 

“Phillip,” Phineas started, staring at him with a startled expression. “What is going on--”

 

“No, no, what is going on with you? Avoiding me? Barely speaking to me anymore? We are supposed to be partners, Phineas, and that is certainly not what we are right now,” Phillip took a step forward. His hands were shaking already, so he put them behind his back, clenching his fists. “I do not understand why you have been avoiding me. I want answers.”

 

Phineas only stared at him. Even the mab's gaze was hot and intense, in the literal senses of the word, and Phillip could feel the room getting hotter by the second. He tugged on the bottom of his jacket, glancing away from Phineas, but his eyes snapped back once he saw Phineas begin moving, inching closer to Phillip.

 

They were five feet away from each. 

 

Four feet.

 

Three.

 

Two.

 

When Phineas was only a foot away, Phillip felt absolutely intoxicated by the raw power radiating from him. Pulling him in. Drowning him. His knees were weak. The warmth was tolerable as best. 

 

He loved this thrilling feeling. This dangerous feeling. He could hear a soft cracking behind him, knowing full well that the frost on his fingers was spreading up the wall behind him, grounding him. Reminding him that he needed to cool down.

 

“Phillip,” Phineas murmured, looking into Phillip's bright blue eyes- an unnatural color, something that much resembled the bright ocean water. He gulped, glancing away, before sighing. “You know that we cannot do anything. It is best if we stay apart. I wouldn't want to hurt you--”

 

“Then why are you so close to me now, Phineas?”

 

At that, Phineas silenced himself. Hesitated. The air around them was thick. 

 

Phineas cleared his throat and took a step back, letting out a deep, nervous sigh. He ran a hand through his hair, looking back to Phillip. “I am too dangerous for you to be near, Phillip, you know this.”

 

“I know that you would never intentionally hurt me,” Phillip murmured softly, gulping. The possibility of getting hurt was one that terrified him. He had always hated fire, hated heat- but he could never hate Phineas. Not in a million years. For a long time, fire had been his greatest fear. Of course, now, his greatest fear was losing the heat that he had grown so fond of. 

 

“I wound never dream of hurting you,” Phineas leaned against the wall on the opposite side. He shared at Phillip, and Phillip stared back. No words were spoken, yet they knew exactly what the other wanted to hear. 

 

They were silent for a long time. 

 

That night, when Phillip left the building after the show, Phineas was with him, loosely holding his hand.

 

Everything had stayed just like that for the next two months- innocent shoulder touches, discreet hand holding that was anything but discreet, gentle squeezes on the forearm as they passed each other in the building. The small actions meant a thousand words to Phillip. He wanted so desperately to be closer, but Phineas was a wildfire, likely to erupt at any given time. He was scared of lingering touches, of being too close, of getting burnt, yet at the same time, he was touch starved, desperately needing to be held and showered with affection and kissed so hard he forgot how to breathe.

 

They would make it to that point eventually.

 

Their first kiss had been magical, albeit quick. Phineas and Phillip had been particularly cheerful after a successful show one December night, and before Phillip knew what was going on, Phineas had wrapped him in his arms and pulled him in for a kiss. He felt explosions. Fireworks. Everything was amazing and light and airy and, oh, God, so burning and hot that he couldn't stand anymore of it as he pulled away and quickly took a few steps back. Phineas looked hurt, maybe scared- until Phillip broke into a wide smile.

 

“You- Phillip, I didn't mean--”

 

“Phineas?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Shut up,” Phillip murmured, shooting him a soft grin. “I have been waiting for you to do that for a long time now.”

 

The heat that rose to Phineas's cheeks was something beautiful. That night, before they broke apart to go their separate ways, they kissed again, and this time it was coupled with softly spoken words and promises that were to be kept for the years to come. 

 

I love you.

 

For the months of December and January, they seemed to be stuck in that same dance. One step forward to be affectionate, two steps back into their comfort zone. The first time that they really stayed close to each other had been because of rather unwelcome circumstances late one winter night. Phillip had never meant to get into the fight- but when they began talking about what a disgrace Phineas was, and how he should have never brought those freaks into the spotlight- well, Phillip didn't like it. He had tried to get the angry group to stop harassing them and leave, but when the leading man spat at him and told him he would never be more than a “fuckin’ disgrace of a daddy's boy,” Phillip clearly had lost his temper, judging by the large spikes of ice that had been found along with a bruised, bloodied, and passed out Carlyle.

 

Phineas, of course, was the one to carry his lovely idiot home. Home just happened to be the Barnum household for the night.

 

Once the two men arrived, Phineas placed  Phillip down on the bed in one of the many guest rooms, slowly climbing in to lie next to him. Charity came into the room just a few moments later with a damp rag, gently wiping off the dried blood from Phillip's face with cool water. She paused in awe as she watched frost form on his forehead, likely due to his own always cool temperature and the colder water, but quickly got back to work, cleaning the poor boy as Phineas gently shook him awake. “Phillip, darling, wake up, my love… You're alright, okay? You're safe,” He whispered as Phillip slowly blinked his eyes open, sitting up. He seemed dazed, maybe confused, and winced as he ran a finger over one of the few small cuts on his forehead. 

 

Phillip glanced around, noticing Charity first, and he smiled at her, a grateful, kind, genuine smile that was saved for just a select few people. She leaned in, kissed his cheek like she had done a million times, and walked out of the room after murmuring that she was glad he was alright. He stared after her, a wide grin on his face. Charity had been in their lives since that first night that Phillip and Phineas realized their feelings for each other. She was the middle ground between the two men, keeping both of them in check, making sure they were safe, loved, and cared for. 

 

Once he heard her disappear down the hall, he turned his attention over to the man next to him, whose arms were wrapped around him, keeping him safe, happy, warm. Phillip leaned into the touch, muttering nonsense as he rested his head against Phineas's chest, listening to the quick-paced heartbeat that was always so prominent. “You didn't have to bring me here, Phin… I would rather not inconvenience the girls,” Phillip insisted, rolling over to where he was able to look into Phineas's eyes. 

 

Phineas only scoffed, slowly moving up to reposition Phillip and himself. Once more comfortable, with less heat on Phillip and let chill on himself, he shook his head. “Charity and the girls adore you, Flip. You're no inconvenience. Besides, you looked like you were trying to walk when those guys got done with you and cou couldn't even stand, let alone walk yourself home. I couldn't just... let you go home alone. It wasn't safe for you,” Phineas murmured, moving to gently run the pad of his thumb over Phillip's cheek. He flinched, but slowly leaned into the touch, his eyes closing. It left Phineas wondering if Phillip was alright. “Here, let me find you some night clothes, I will be right back, alright?” Phineas kissed his forehead, before slipping out of bed and leaving the room.

 

Once alone, Phillip looked around, sighing. It was much colder in the room now with him absent, much more comfortable, but he had come to find that he did not want to be alone. He smiled when Phineas walked over and handed him the clothes, hesitating once Phineas sat down.

 

Oh, right. They were a couple. Couples often watched each other change. They trusted each other. And, well, Phillip trusted Phineas, right?

 

Phillip drew in a quick deep breath and hesitantly began unbuttoning his shirt, stopping before any skin showed. He glanced up at Phin, looked into his eyes with a gulp, and reached out to place a shaky hand against his lover's cheek. “Please, don't be alarmed. I am… not very, erm, pretty, underneath--”

 

“Oh, darling, I'm sure you're gorgeous,” Phineas interjected, raising a brow and leaning back with a soft chuckle. 

 

Phillip shrugged, but gulped. He took a few steps back and turned to face the wall, the shirt slowly drifting to the floor a few moments later. His skin was soft, and he had gorgeous muscles that left Phineas with his breath taken away. 

 

However, what really caught Phin's attention were the obvious, garish, huge burn marks littering Phillip's skin, ranging from his shoulder blades to below the waistband of his trousers. Phineas gulped, slowly standing and walking forward. “Oh, Phillip,” He whispered, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder, but he stopped himself quickly. “Who-- What happened? Who did this to you?”

 

Phillip turned to face him. The scars on his chest were just as bad as the others. He looked up at Phineas, taking in a slow, deep breath, reminding himself that Phineas was different. He was safe. “...I-... I promise to tell you everything one day, but for now, let's just- let's just say that- say that my, um, father had-- He- He had unconventional ways of making sure I behaved,” Phillip rushed out, and quickly walked to the bed to grab the shirt Phineas had brought in for him. As he slipped it on, he turned to face Phineas again, but he gulped at what he saw, eyes wide. 

 

Phineas was staring at him with an unreadable expression. His fists were clenched, and his eyes were so bright that it almost hurt Phillip to look. He felt the heat rising in the room, and he stepped back, the backs of his legs hitting the bed frame. “Phin- Phineas?”

 

“Your father… hurt you,” Phineas replied, taking a slow step back. He was seeing red. Phillip, his Phillip, had been through so much pain already, and at the thought of his own father deliberately causing him pain- well, Phineas was none too happy. He took a deep breath to try to calm down, but shook his head. “I- I'll be back in a moment,” He murmured, giving Phillip one last reassuring look before exiting, no doubt to find Charity, to have her calm him, have her help him not scare Phillip anymore.

 

When he reappeared in the doorway, Phillip had finished dressing, now sitting on the edge of the bed. The room was covered in a thick layer of frost now, and Phillip's hands seemed shaky. It was extremely cold in the room, even as Phineas walked toward the bed. He sat down next to Phillip, looking down at the floor. “You do not have to worry anymore, my love,” He whispered, letting out a soft sigh. “I promise you will never have to go through the pain aga--”

 

Instantly, Phillip's arms were around him, and he was practically in his lap. He took in a deep breath as he rested his forehead against Phineas's shoulder, nodding. “I love you,” He whispered, eyes shutting, his hands gripping Phineas's shirt. “I- I love you, so, so much.” Typically, Phillip wasn't the one to show so much… vulnerability and affection. But at this moment, he couldn't hold back. He needed Phineas close and needed him to promise to never let go. And with Phineas comforting him, promising him that he would never have to go through that pain again, Phillip felt that the confession and attention was needed.

 

“I know, Phillip,” Phineas murmured, wrapping his arms around Phillip's waist. He held him close, slowly lying back against the mattress, a soft sigh leaving his lips. “I love you too, so, so much,” Phineas murmured. He really did love the boy to death. Phillip was everything he had been missing, and he’d be damned if his love was ever harmed again. 

 

Phillip slowly nodded, resting his forehead in the crook of Phineas's neck. He pressed a soft kiss there, and Phineas shuddered at the chill, a breathy laugh leaving him. “My goodness- Give a man a warning before you freeze him, my darling,” He murmured softly, causing a soft chuckle to leave Phillip as well. They laid together in silence after that, and for once, the warmth didn't bother Phillip much. He welcomed it. Craved it. 

 

Phineas was an intense fire of passion, love, charisma, and dedication. Phillip found that, with Phineas, he felt like he was finally home.


End file.
